Beware the Blackblood
by Lady Lylia
Summary: The typical D&D story of heroes, but with a few twists all my own, on a world you've never seen before. DISCLAIMER: I own only the plots, characters, and misc details. Everything = built off D&D rulebooks. Ask me if you don't know where I got an idea! :)
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
"Mayhaps the safest way to judge people is to avoid judging them at all. Or, mayhaps an even better way is to avoid people instead." - Loran the Wise, The Souls of Men  
  
Sir Lewis Gorling stared somewhat nervously across the crowds. He had only been transferred to Castle Tarintor a week before, just in time for the jousting tourney. He had entered eagerly, for his last outpost had been one of the biggest fortresses in all of Dallorn. He had found no one there with better lancing skills, so surely this little boon dock keep would have no true jousting competition. He seemed to be right, for he had won a dozen matches and was now about to make the final round, against the long standing winner of the tourney. The defender of the title was apparently very mysterious, for no one seemed willing or able to tell him anything about him. Gorling liked to be prepared, to know what he was getting into. He felt a little anxious as he looked at the throngs of people, all so eagerly waiting to see this final joust.  
  
A message boy ran up to him. "Lieutenant Gorling?" the boy said respectfully. "The joust will begin shortly. It is suggested that you mount now." Gorling nodded. He went to the stall constructed for the joust. Of course, Gorling was not going to ride a horse; Dallorn's military was not called the Army of the Dragon for nothing! Over a hundred related species of dragonlike animals, ranging from the size of a large beetle to as large as a real dragon, all lived only in Dallorn. No where else in all the continent of Aristhar, or even anywhere on the world of Aris, did the creatures live. They were thus the symbol and prefered companion of all natives of Dallorn, especially their army.  
  
Gorling's mount, Micael, was a male knight's dragon. Knights' dragons, a little larger than horses, were named because they were the preferred mount of Dallornish warriors. Micael was covered in black scales from horned head to taloned foot. He could have been mistaken for a black dragon, but most of the species of Dallornish dragons did not have wings, knights' dragons included. Micael's golden eyes seemed to light up when Gorling rose into the saddle. Gorling held his wooden heavy lance in his right, with its point facing the sky. A squire, provided temporarily for the tourney, held Gorling's shield and helm.  
  
A single trumpet blast echoed across the Field, the large open area in the middle of Castle Tarintor, currently being used as a jousting field. That was Gorling's cue. He rode out into plain sight with an energetic wave to the crowd, but he heard only scattered mocking laughter. This was not the response Gorling expected, and he prayed silently that they would eat their laughter after he won the joust.  
  
Suddeny, Gorling saw his competition. He had to resist the urge to laugh. The man was wearing a cloth sack as a tunic! His armor seemed in surprisingly good condition, so shiny that it had to be made of mithral. Gorling resisted the urge to try and buff his breastplate with his glove, as his more economical and practical steel had much less shine. This knight's dragon was much smaller than his, a female, Gorling noticed. Females were notoriously smaller and more agile than males, but the males had much greater strength and size. This female dragon was a stunning color, a bright bluish violet. Its scales seemed to gleam even from across the strip.  
  
The other knight was breaking traditional jousting etiquette as well, for he already wore his helm. Mayhaps they joust differently, Gorling thought. Hoping he had made no gaff, Gorling hurriedly donned his helmet, then took his shield and lance. He held his lance at waiting, its point facing the sky. To his left and right were several hundred spectators. In front of him was the strip. A wooden partition seperated his side from his opponent's. Each would ride along the strip full speed and try to knock the other off his mount with the lance. Gorling felt himself begin to perspire under the hot summer suns.  
  
Breaking the silence, a herald called out, pointing at Gorling, "The challenger!" Silence reigned at the herald's words. No one cheered for him. No one. "Lieutenant Gorling, are you ready?" In response, Gorling simply thrust his lance skyward and brought it down into charging position. Again the herald cried, "The defender!" This time, the crowds roared. "Lieutenant Sarnah, are you ready?" Gorling's enemy did the same.  
  
A trumpet brayed out, once, twice, three times, and Gorling spurred his dragon forward. Micael practically flew down the strip. The other knight, Sarnah, seemed to be coming towards him just as fast. He braced his lance for the impact, barely in time, and the two collided. Amazingly, his lance just glazed Sarnah, sliding clear off the knight's shoulder to the side, but the other man's lance hit Gorling squarely in the shoulder. Neither lance broke, however. In a joust, hitting with enough force to shatter a lance tip earned one point, while knocking a knight off his mount earned three. Thus, the score was nothing for both sides.  
  
The knights prepared to traverse the strip a second time. A trumpet cried out thrice, and again the dragons nearly flew towards each other, running like the great cats. This time, Gorling felt a smack dead center on his chest, and Sarnah's lance head shattered like glass on impact with his breastplate. His own lance grazed the opponent's shoulder again, sliding right off. The score was now one to nothing, in his enemy's favor.  
  
This was impossible! Gorling had never been beaten in a tourney before, and the idea that he might lose now, against a foe he had never seen before, struck him to the bone. He felt himself sweating profusely. He could not lose, not now.  
  
As Gorling waited for the trumpet's next bray, he noticed something in his opponent's profile. There was an oddity of some kind involving the man's shoulders. They pointed upward at an odd angle, and protruded much too far outward for the man's narrow frame. Perhaps a birth deformity, Gorling thought. That could be an explanation for why he wore a cloth sack.  
  
The knight had no time to dwell on his revelation, for the trumpet began to play yet again. They charged. Suddenly, Gorling was aware of the silence. There had been light talking and laughter before, but now only the sound of clawed feet running on dirt could be heard. For a second, that silence rang out and lingered. The dragons running began to echo in Gorling's heartbeat. His breath grew faster. His lance arm tensed.  
  
Then the silence exploded. Sarnah's lance hit Gorling squarely in the chest with more force than seemed possible. It fractured into dozens of pieces upon impact. The twin suns grew brighter and brighter, and Gorling felt himself falling backwards. His own lance swung wildly, missing his opponent by several feet. Sarnah remained mounted, and Gorling lay on his back on the hard-packed dirt.  
  
Feeling himself flush scarlet, Gorling tumbled onto his stomach and refused to rise from the ground. He just laid there as he heard the cheering. The voices of no more than three hundred people could have been a thousand for the way the cacaphony rang in his ears. Micael stood protectively over his rider as the knight let himself wallow in shame.  
  
Before he could fall too deeply into his reverie of self-pity, Gorling felt a light nudge on his back. "Get up," a gentle voice spoke laughingly, "I know I could not have hit you that hard!"  
  
Grudgingly, Gorling rolled over again to face the source of his defeat. What stood before him was like nothing he had ever seen. He tried to rise, but found that his body would not obey his commands. The suns were behind Gorling's victor, forming a silhouette, an almost celestial glow around the knight. Yet that was not what made him gasp. That knight was a woman! Gorling, the famous undefeatable Sir Gorling, had been knocked off his steed by a woman ! She had removed her cloth sack, and Gorling now saw why she wore it. Aside from hiding a distinctly feminine breastplate, there were wings protruding from her back! The wings were short, each only about two feet long, and covered in silver feathers. Gorling dimly realized two things then: that the wings must have been what created the odd profile, and that his jaw was hanging at an odd angle.  
  
Were that not remarkable enough, the woman had skin the color of the brightest blue sky, with deep purple freckles. Her wavy hair, cropped to her chin, was a stunning silver, and slightly pointed ears peaked out of the mithral locks. Her eyes were molten blue-violet with silver flecks, the same color as her dragon. Combined with the mithral armor she wore, it truly made her look like a holy celestial being.  
  
Grinning broadly, she held out her hand to help him up. "Fair day, Sir Gorling!" He just stared emptily at her, his jaw still hanging. "Come on, you cannot just lie there all day. Get up!" she said playfully.  
  
Gorling just looked at her. "You, you a-are a ...," he managed to sputter.  
  
"A half-avariel aasimar? Or a woman?" She smiled and held out her hand again. Gorling weakly took it, and she hoisted him to his feet with a surprising strength. "Lady Gwendolyn Sarnah," she added calmly, almost as an afterthought.  
  
Gorling still gaped at her. He had been beaten by a woman. An aasimar, a being descended from angels? Who was she? "Are you an honorary knight, lady?"  
  
She looked at him coolly. "Of course not! Could someone with no true combat training beat you in competition?" She saw his blush. "I have been the Champion of the Joust in Castle Tarintor since its founding, and I have earned that title justly."  
  
"Lady, I am curious. Why do you wear that sack?"  
  
"Two reasons. The wings prove a distraction to you and a hindrance to me, and a cloth bag helps to protect them, both from wood chips and from sight. And," she added pointedly, "it helps disguise me."  
  
"Why would you do that?"  
  
Lady Gwendolyn cooly appraised Gorling with one thin raised violet eyebrow. "Would you joust against a woman?"  
  
Gorling sighed. "A fair mark, I suppose." He was feeling more comfortable talking to her now, and he could not help but notice her beauty. "Did you say you were an avariel aasimar?"  
  
"Nay, I am but a half of one. My mother was an avariel elf, and my father a human aasimar. I thus have my mother's wings and eyes, and my father's silver tones."  
  
Gorling nodded. He knew enough about elves to understand what she was talking about. The most common elves were the silvaniels, the green haired elves who lived in the trees, but there were other kinds. The qualiniels were the flame elves, with ebony skin and hair like fire. The dargoniels lived below the waves and rarely ventured to the surface, and the evil black skinned drouiels lived in the bowels of Aris. Apparently, Lady Sarnah had a avariel for a mother. Avariels were the winged sky elves, all blue skinned with feathery wings large enough for them to fly. Avariels were extremely rare outside the elfin lands. Just as rare were aasimars, those with the blood of celestial beings somewhere in their ancestry. To imagine, someone who was both a half-avariel and an aasimar! "I have never heard of another like ye, Lady Sarnah," Gorling said honestly.  
  
"Neither have I, Sir Gorling. Neither have I." The lady knight seemed to dwell on her thoughts for a moment, then said, "You were a worthy opponent, Sir Gorling. Mayhaps Arwyn and I," she added, pulling her exotic looking dragon over, "shall see you again sometime."  
  
"I look forward to it, Lady," Gorling replied. Once one got over the wings and skin, he mused to himself as he led Micael away, she was actually quite beautiful. 


	2. Gathering Heroes

Chapter 1  
  
"The trouble with traveling companions is actually bothering to make the trip once you have exhausted yourself finding them!"- Soandso Kiran, Explorer Extroardinaire  
  
Gwen sighed as she led Arwyn away. Yet another dumbfounded knight to blush and stammer over her. Few men comprehended the length and breadth of her soul, and those that did were not those who were impressed by her wings. She fought her way through the crowds, trying to avoid the throngs eager to congratulate their victorious defending champion of the joust. The satisfaction of the crowds did not ease her soul.  
  
From nowhere, Gwen got jostled nearly off her feet. She quickly picked the boy responsible up off the ground, recognizing the red-headed youth instantly. He was the assistant of Gwen's superior, Commander Krostarn Markenis. "Fair morn, Lirah."  
  
"Same to you, Gwen," Lirah said with a grin. She had long since stopped making the freckle-faced child address her by rank. "Great job today! You were fantastic!"  
  
"Thank you, Lirah."  
  
The boy's face fell, as though he remembered something. "Markenis wants to see you, Gwen."  
  
"About what? Does it have anything to do with the campaign next moon phase?"  
  
Lirah's face grew unusually somber. "I think so, Gwen. He got a message from the sergeants about something, and he scowled when he read it, then immediately sent me to get you. I hope you aren't in trouble."  
  
"So do I, Lirah. So do I." Gwen thought for a moment, then added, "Tell Markenis that I'll come as soon as I've seen to Arwyn."  
  
* * *  
  
Gwen walked briskly through the field, which was already being set up to become the marketplace. She did her best to ignore the stares from those new to the stronghold who had never seen her before. They cannot help but stare, she reminded herself. Blue skin and violet eyes were rather uncommon in Dallorn. Even those features would be easy enough to overlook if she did not have wings. They were not true wings, not large enough for her to fly, but those silver feathered two-foot stubs sprouting from her shoulder blades gave her the ability to glide somewhat, as well as making her stand out incredibly. Her appearance was only heightened by her mithral full plate mail, specially crafted to allow her wings to fan out behind her.  
  
Fortunately, only those who had never visited the keep before were unfamiliar with the most exotic of the Dragon Army's lieutenants, and the regulars at the fortress only gave her a polite nod and a friendly smile as she passed. She smiled warmly back, for many of those people had known her for years. Eight years to be precise, for that was when Castle Tarintor was built. A large goblinoid horde, calling themselves the Blackblood, had been stirring in the Black Woods, a tract of forest west of the nation of Dallorn, separated only by the Grumdekgrim mountain range, dwarven territory. The Grumdekgrim dwarves and Dallornish knights decided together that a fortress must be built to keep that evil out, as well as foster relations between the two. Lady Gwendolyn had been among the first knights to inhabit Castle Tarintor. Even so, with eight years in one location, there were still those who stood mouth agape when they saw her.  
  
Lady Gwendolyn quietly slipped into the main castle. This was the pinnacle of Castle Tarintor. The rest of the fortress was simply a walled- in village with barracks instead of homes. The stone walls seemed comforting, away from the noise and the stares and the twin hot suns, both of which had already risen this day. Without pause, she went straight for the second floor, where the private quarters of the true knights and war wizards were.  
  
Gwen paused outside the door, collected her thoughts. Rarely did Commander Markenis call a lieutenant to his office. That he did now, with scant days to go before the big campaign, a series of attacks against known Blackblood hang-outs, could not be a good sign.  
  
Gwen sighed quietly, putting her right hand over her heart for a brief prayer to Lolania, goddess of beauty, music, and love and Gwen's patron deity, before adjusting her open faced mithral helm over her silver hair and flexing her wing stubs. She knocked on the door, once, twice-  
  
"Enter," barked the brusque voice of Krostarn Markenis, a Dragon Knight and her superior. Lady Gwendolyn saluted and stood before Commander Markenis. Cmdr. Markenis was a lean man, with dark brown hair and a thin mustache. The scar of three long claws cut from forehead across his left eye and cheek down to his chin, supposedly from the claws of a were-tiger. He wore simple mithral chain mail, typical of a Dragon Knight off duty, as he read a pile of papers on his desk. He looked up briskly, then went back to shuffling papers, speaking without looking up. "Lieutenant Sarnah, I have a task for you. A force of creatures, the least of which being goblinoids, all wearing black armor, have turned up far from their known locations."  
  
"The Blackblood, Sir? Where?"  
  
"The borders between Dallorn and the elfin lands to the south." Faelaeri, she thought excitedly. The fabled elf home had always been appealing to her, with its wonders far beyond any she had ever seen. Lady Gwendolyn was brought back to the real word with a jolt by his next words, "You must assemble a small unit to take care of this potential threat to our allies. You must interrogate, if possible, and then kill every member of that party. They are highly dangerous, and must be stopped at all costs."  
  
"Permission to speak freely, Sir." No way in the Dark Realms of Hades she was going to allow anyone, even Markenis, from taking away this fight! Lady Gwendolyn had been preparing to fight the ugly little goblins for the past six moons, and she was not going to back down now.  
  
Markenis nodded, and Gwendolyn rushed on, before she lost her resolve. No one questioned the orders of Commander Markenis, not without repercussions. "Sir, with all due respect, this would put myself out of the upcoming campaign, would it not?" He nodded again, which encouraged Gwendolyn further. "I am unbested with the lance sir, as I demonstrated yet again today," she began.  
  
"Yes, good job on yet another jousting victory." He still did not look up.  
  
"Ah, thank you, Sir. As I was saying, I am undefeated with the lance, and few can beat me with the sword. Why am I being sent, instead of another who is more expendable? Why not send me out in the campaign against the Blackblood, where I will be of more use?"  
  
"Because, Lieutenant Sarnah, I have assigned you." He sounded impatient, angry.  
  
"But Sir-," she tried to respond.  
  
"Gwendolyn, listen to me." He never used her first name. Never. The surprise was enough to keep her mouth shut while he spoke. She scarcely noticed that he put down the papers and actually bothered to make eye contact while he spoke. "I am sending you because you are the best for the job. You have certain qualities that will aid you much more out there than in that campaign. You have a tolerance for other races beyond what most in Dallorn have. Yet you will need more tolerance before this is through. The group you must lead is not a platoon of the Dragons. You must organize them yourself, for I would never command such men and women to come with you as you will need. I really couldn't command them, for you may well be the only Dragon there. You need to understand what they have. There is at least one drow in the party, as well as some of at least partial fiendish heritage. One or more intelligent undead are also in their ranks. They are not members of any of the good races, or even common races."  
  
Lady Gwendolyn shivered inwardly. A dark elf, walking dead that can still think, and at best a tiefling, at worst a greater demon or devil. What was she being dragged into? "Who am I permitted to enlist on this mission?"  
  
"Anyone you can convince to go with you, but no one above your ranking. All officers above you are needed in the upcoming campaign."  
  
"Anyone equal to or below my rank, Sir?" Would he allow her to cull supporters from outside the Dragons? "What about those outside of the Dragon Army, Sir?"  
  
"Anyone, Lieutenant. If you can persuade them to come."  
  
"When do we depart?"  
  
"First thing on the morrow, Lieutenant." Commander Markenis went back to his papers, and Lady Gwendolyn left his office quietly, with a grim smile. It sounded like a challenge. Perhaps she would enjoy this new mission after all.  
  
* * *  
  
Lady Gwendolyn ignored the stares as she stepped back onto the crowded marketplace, and began to focus on who she would need in this mission. She herself, with the holy power of Lolania, could handle the weakest of undead, but the true undead were never weaklings. For such power, she would need a cleric.  
  
* * *  
  
Music in the language of the divine wafted through the air as Gwen neared the little chapel to Paladus, the supreme god of all that is good. She had been in there many times for spiritual purposes during her years at Castle Tarintor, but each time the sight took her breath away. The temple to Paladus was not imposing, not mighty, but it nonetheless possessed an aura about it that was pure holiness. The closer she got, her senses filled to a pleasant overload. The gleaming white building was almost blinding, the sweet, clean scent of holy water drifted lazily about her, the chiming of bells and singing in the celestial tongue made her heart cry out. Lady Gwendolyn was practically compelled to the small structure.  
  
She thought quickly but carefully about who to take with her. Brother Laurence was too inexperienced, Brother Culver too old, and Sister Agnes was both blind and deaf. How she communicated with the other priests was a mystery to Lady Gwendolyn, and she had no real desire to find out. All the other acolytes were unknown to her, except for one.  
  
Brother Maynard would probably be the only possibility. He was closest to her ranking in the Purple Dragons, albeit in a different branch, which meant he had the best ability against undead she could bring. In addition, she knew Brother Maynard to be swift and deadly with his mace, and he wore armor as easily as a true warrior. However, she had had several altercations with the brother in the past, mostly over the merits of their respective deities. Lady Gwendolyn preferred Lolania, goddess of beauty, music, and love, over Lolania's father Paladus, who represented every good under the sun. Despite this, Lady Gwendolyn had no problems worshiping her patron in a temple dedicated to Paladus. Sadly, Brother Maynard considered the chapel property of Paladus and Paladus alone. He seemed a rather stern and somber man to Gwen. Still, he was the only person available.  
  
She walked with as serious a mien as she could muster to the back of a man, clad in the purest alabaster robes. Sandy greying hair, loosely braided, was flung over one shoulder. A decorated golden cuirass, obviously ornamental to Gwen's trained eye, adorned the man's tall, lanky frame.  
  
Without turning, Brother Maynard sighed deeply. "So the infamous Lady Gwendolyn has returned to blaspheme yet again."  
  
Biting back a harsh word, Gwen forced a smile. "Not this time, Holy Brother. Instead, I come to you with a quest, appointed to me by Commander Markenis."  
  
Still the cleric did not turn. "Forgive me, Lady, I must return to the duties of the temple. As you well know, the campaign will begin in a matter of days, and I must be ready for that conflict."  
  
"Brother Maynard, I come to you in need. The people I am currently recruiting, not all of which are within the ranks of the Purple Dragons, will in all probability die without such skills as you possess."  
  
"Take another cleric. I am needed here, now."  
  
"Respected Brother, no one else is in a position to come along. Those of your temple are either of abilities unknown to me or unfit for the position. Only you remain."  
  
"I respectfully decline. If you'll excuse me," he commented brusquely, before beginning to walk away. Still he had not once turned and faced her.  
  
Gwen felt a flush of deep purple across her blue cheeks at his total disregard of her request. Locking her jaw and flexing her wings, she moved to stand in front of Brother Maynard, forcing him to acknowledge her presence. Her silvery blue-violet eyes, flashing with impatience and anger, met with brown eyes filled with equal disdain. "Brother Maynard." It was a statement, a demand for him to at least listen to her. He reluctantly acquiesced, and she pushed onward.  
  
"I must lead a unit to the south, all the way to Faelaeri's borders, and farther if I have to. A group that is in all probability part of the Blackblood has been sighted near Faelaeri's borders, and we must contend with that evil. They have at least one intelligent undead among them. We know not what. My holy powers can do much, but I have devoted as much of my life to battle in Lolania's name as I have to prayer and servitude. I cannot hope to turn such foul creatures. You can, and your healing prowess will save many lives along the way. I need more strong fighters beside, though I am making the assumption you still have access to that suit of plate you wore into battle years ago, and that your arm still remembers how to swing a mace." The last was an insult, a way to provoke him to come along. Brother Maynard had always prided himself on being a war priest, though he had not risen to a battle in Paladus's name in a few years.  
  
Brother Maynard glared at Gwen long and hard, before gruffly asking, "When do we leave?"  
  
"On the morrow." She started to turn, even as he had already spun back to his work. Gwen paused though, for just a moment. "Brother Maynard? Thank you." She saluted, spun sharply on her heel, and left, leaving the holy brother alone in his confusion.  
  
* * *  
  
Though Gwen knew her worth in battle, and that Brother Maynard could hold his own with that mace of his, they would not be enough. Sorting through the possibilities, she found two likely prospects. Her recruits were not limited to the Dragons, so long as she could find them this day. Two who were able in a fight sprung to mind immediately, and she knew she could find them both in the same place.  
  
Thus, with a bewildered smile at the thought of finding her help in a tavern, Gwen set off.  
  
* * *  
  
Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting of the Inn of the Last Stand, which Gwen took as a good omen, as every head turned when she entered. The regulars at Tarintor paid her no mind after they noticed her presence, recognizing the lady knight instantly, but, as everywhere else, some stared impolitely.  
  
Such staring actually worked to her advantage, as she noticed one of the men she was looking for, a dwarf actually, in the center of the room. He was arm-wrestling with a knight, and fighting hard, and a large crowd was watching and cheering. The two had probably been evenly matched, but the knight was obviously new to Tarintor, probably transferred from some post near the capital, judging by the crest on his breastplate. The knight saw Gwen, and his jaw and arm slackened. The brawny dwarf seized the opportunity, slamming the human's hand down with a roar, bringing him back to his senses. A dozen coins exchanged hands, and the dwarf smirked merrily as Lady Gwendolyn got close, even as the knight slinked off quietly. He did not dare explain why he lost, not with Gwen so near to the dwarf.  
  
Gwen laughed merrily as she sat down next to the brawny, squat figure. "Greetings, Dolarth."  
  
Dolarth Micah Strongarm just laughed, his full curly black beard shaking and showing off remarkably his complete set of false teeth, alternating adamantine and gold. The firelight made his deep mahogany skin glow and caused his dark eyes to shine. His armor was a savage mismatching of boar's hide, adamantine chain, and long bands of darkwood. The harness on his back held a gold and adamantine maul, the giant two-handed warhammer so common among dwarves. His cheeks were tattooed in black with symbols of strength and bravery, and four bone needles, carved from the vertebrae of his most revered ancestors, pierced the bridge of his nose. Dolarth looked every bit the savage fighter, and Gwen knew that he deserved that image in battle.  
  
"Mayhaps I should have you enter this tavern more frequently at opportune times," he pretended to whisper conspiratorially as he flagged down a tavern wench and got another bottle of dwarven spirits. Gwen noticed three other bottles lying in front of him.  
  
"Mayhaps, good dwarf. Or," Gwen added with a cocky smile, "mayhaps we could do better for ourselves than simple barroom betting."  
  
Dolarth had begun pouring her a small keg of the strong, bitter brew, but her words stopped him cold. He looked up at her over his thick bushy eyebrows. "Speak in plain Dallornish, lass! What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean," she replied coolly, trying to sound nonchalant, "that I have need of a fighting companion. You are my first choice." She quickly downed the keg, trying her hardest not to gag on the foul-tasting stuff. Conducting business with dwarves required their trust, and not sharing a drink with them implied deceitful intentions, which would swiftly end any encounter. "We journey far into the south, all the way to Faelaeri. We may need to pass through Grumdekgrim, and having a dwarf along will prove invaluable, as would a stout fighting companion such as yourself."  
  
"We? Who else travels with you?"  
  
"Only Brother Maynard, but I have asked no one else to come yet."  
  
"When do we leave?"  
  
"At sunrise." Gwen allowed herself a smile. Dolarth had not refused; he would go. Instead, the dwarf had gone quietly back to his drinking. She nodded politely to him and left a silver piece on the table to pay for her drink. Dwarves as a whole were very caught up in their money, and Dolarth had never actually said he was paying for her drink. She rose and looked around the smoky room.  
  
After a moment's searching, she found the other person she was looking for. A giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall, with silver hair and bronze skin, was sitting at a corner booth, ignoring everyone around him. He had on well worn leather armor, dyed in varied shades of green. A simple, unadorned longsword was strapped to his hip in an old scabbard. Gwendolyn quietly and respectfully made her way to his table, the boisterous feeling she had had when talking with Dolarth having vanished. She could feel her insides lurch a little as she got close to her old friend. "Hello, Brueyan."  
  
The proud and intimidating face, which always reminded Gwen of a celestial in search of vengeance, broke into a friendly smile. "Fair day, Gwen." He gestured to the empty seat opposite him, and Gwen sat. He poured her a glass of elf wine, then took a long sip from his. It gave Gwen a chance to study his features, which she never tired of doing. Brueyan Owlen was famous everywhere, though not totally for his own exploits. He himself had spent over a decade working tirelessly and thanklessly in the Black Woods, trying to root out the evil goblinoids. The Owlen family, though, had quite a reputation anywhere. The family was made up entirely of aasimars, those with a celestial in their ancestry, like Gwen, and the number of were-owls in all of Aristhar could be counted as easily as the members of the Owlen family. Were that not enough to earn a family reputation, the fact that every member of the large family was either still a child, actively adventuring, or had fought evil for several decades before going into a well-deserved retirement would make up for it.  
  
Those who knew of Brueyan's family would easily recognize it in his appearance. His hair was pure silvery-white, the color of the plumage of the snowy owl he could become at will. He always had it pulled back into a short-cropped ponytail. His eyes were golden in any form he took, and his nose looked handsomely beakish, if such a thing was possible. His skin was tanned to a bronze from his constant patrolling of the Black Forest. He was the first ranger to welcome the presence of Castle Tarintor, despite its civilized tone, simply because the fortress would aid in keeping the people in Dallorn safe from the goblinoid hordes.  
  
The two sat together in companionable silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. Finally, with a soft smile, the ranger began to speak. "So, Gwen, from what I hear, you and the dwarf are running a scam."  
  
"Oh?" Gwen could not help but smile and feign innocence, realizing instantly what Brueyan was getting at.  
  
"Yes. It seems to me that the dwarf gets into arm-wrestling competitions, and you provide a diversion, a clever one at that," he added with a wry grin, "so that the dwarf wins. Then you split the betting money." He calmly sipped his wine, in what seemed to be an attempt to hide his chuckling.  
  
Gwen laughed genially, then answered sweetly, "I should know not to scam my fellow knights in your wise presence."  
  
"How do you handle all the attention?" Brueyan asked seriously. The ranger's aasimar blood, as well as his family, made him the center of unwanted attention far too frequently, giving him a certain empathy with the lady knight.  
  
"I pretend that there is not any," she replied with a sigh. "But it's not easy to do when you are bright blue with wings." Sighing again deeply, she took a sip from the glass Brueyan had poured her. "I didn't just come for the camaraderie."  
  
As always, Brueyan's beautiful golden eyes seemed to see into her very soul. "I know," he said quietly.  
  
"I am supposed to lead a team into Faelaeri. There has been sighting of some kind of Blackblood elite unit down there. They definitely have goblinoids among their ranks, and no one knows those foul beasts like you do." She took another long sip from her glass. "We leave first thing tomorrow."  
  
"I will be ready," he replied with a smile. "You know I don't like those big campaigns." Gwen smiled her thanks, downed the last few sips of the elf wine in her glass, and stood up. She patted her friend on the shoulder, and turned to go.  
  
"Gwen?" She turned, and there was something in Brueyan's face she could not read. "I'll see you in the morning." Gwen just smiled again and left quickly, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach. 


	3. The Party Grows

Chapter 2  
  
"The strangest sights are often far closer to home than you think!"- Laruman, Wanderer of Worlds  
  
  
  
Gwen blinked at the bright light. The two suns were now high in the sky. She only had about six hours left before she would be waking up people to ask them to be ready in the morning. Not good. Now what did she need?  
  
She now had a powerful cleric and stout fighters. Brueyan provided some nature expertise, but not enough. They would be traveling through the woods much of the way, so someone of the druidic path would be an invaluable addition to the growing team.  
  
Aramne seemed the logical choice. The half-silvaniel woman was one of the rarest creatures, even rarer than the half-avariel aasimar, Gwen thought wryly. Aramne was an incarnate, one of those destined to be reborn again and again in different forms. None knew how common those who were reincarnated were, but only the rarest of them could actively remember and call upon their past lives. Aramne had only begun to truly delve into her past lives a few decades ago. She had several of her past lives under full control, able to recall old memories of different existences at will. She could change into the forms of those past lives she had mastered, as well as the useful skills of a druid, making her truly a formidable foe to those opposed to the natural state of things.  
  
Aramne lived alone, half a mile outside of Castle Tarintor. To visit her expediently, she would need Arwyn, her mount.  
  
* * *  
  
Lady Gwendolyn stepped soundlessly into the combined stable and aerie and snuck quietly upon the youth half sleeping in a hay pile."Ã¬Berak!" she shouted jovially, nudging him with her foot. The half-dwarven lad leapt to his feet, suddenly alert despite his disheveled hair and beard. Berak was rather short for a human man, only standing five foot, but he was stockier than human men a foot taller. He would never be as broad as a full dwarf, though, and his complexion looked was not so dark as a dwarf's either. Berak's skin was a chocolate brown, instead of the pale, freckled look so common among the Dallornish peoples of the area or the deepest brown color typical of the dwarves.  
  
"Sorry, milady! I have been up since four this morn mucking stalls, and-"  
  
"No apologies, Berak," Lady Gwendolyn barked harshly. Then, unable to keep up the ruse, she began to grin uncontrollably. "Fooled you, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes, Lady Gwendolyn." Berak seemed rather confused by the whimsical lady knight, albeit relieved that he was not in trouble.  
  
"Are my companions fit to travel?"  
  
"Yes, Lady Gwendolyn. Come this way." The lad briskly went off down the corridor. Gwen followed, but looked in the stalls as she walked. Only the first few held horses, obviously the mounts of foreigners. When the Army of the Dragon military was first formed, the local animals, the dragons, were both its namesake and its primary resource. Thus, most of the stalls on Gwen's left held the knight's dragons. The right wall was filled with pens and cages. The pens held labor dragons, a large and squat breed that performed hard labor and generally served as a mount for the commoners. The small cages, however, held messenger dragons. Messenger dragons were one of the few Dallornish dragon breeds with wings and thus the ability to fly. They relayed messages throughout the fortress and were the most common familiars, magical companions, of Dallornish spellcasters.  
  
The two gigantic stalls at the end of the stable held war dragons. They were the mounts of the two highest ranking officers in Castle Tarintor, the sergeants. One sergeant was a War Wizard of the Dragon, the other a Dragon Talon Knight, both holders of extremely extremely prestigious positions. Their mounts were just as prestigious. The queen herself was accountable for the whereabouts of each of the beasts, and they were only in the hands of her generals and sergeants.  
  
The war dragons were beautiful, sinuous creatures, so large that their riders used howdahs instead of saddles. While Gwen admired the magnificent beasts, Berak looked through the cages. He paused a moment at one cage, then another, looking at the tags on the barred doors. Finally, a little voice called from one of the cages, "Berak? I'm in this cage. Number fifty- two. Would you please let me out now? I'm feeling a little claustrophobic. I want to go back to Lady Gwendolyn, Berak. Let me out! Now, Berak."  
  
"Berak sighed patiently and walked up to cage number fifty-two. "This one, ma'am?"  
  
Gwen just smiled innocently and prayed she was not blushing. "I hope that Luin has been behaving himself. He can be a bit, um, vocal at times."  
  
Berak politely ignored the understatement as he unlocked the cage door. "If you will take him, Lady, I will ready your mount for riding."  
  
A small dragon, about the size of a pigeon, fluttered out of the cage and landed on Gwen's arm. Gwen nodded, then waited for Berak to pass out of earshot, then raised the little violet dragon up to eye level. Gwen smiled wickedly at Luin, then began to speak in a hissing whisper to the animal. Very few paladins had familiars, so Gwen usually tried to pretend Luin was a pet in order to maintain some semblance of normalacy. "Luin, how many times have I told you not to speak to other people?"  
  
"I, ah," sputtered the dragon, only to be silenced with a glare.  
  
"Maybe you have forgotten, but I am a paladin. A worker of magic divine. Combatants blessed with the divine have mounts, not familiars. You are a bi- product of my birth, not a reflection of my calling in this world. I stand out enough without a talking pet pigeon with scales." The surest way to upset the little animal was to call him a pigeon, though the pudgy little pear-shaped dragon truly resembled one.  
  
Luin began to speak telepathically in a apologetic tone. IT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN, GWEN, I SWEAR IT. Luin's voice suddenly became scathing, and he added, HOWEVER, SUCH CAGES ARE RATHER DEGRADING. IT IS FAR BELOW MY STATION TO ENDURE SUCH CRAMPED CONDITIONS, AS YOU WELL KNOW.  
  
TELL YOU WHAT. YOU DON'T TALK TO ANYONE ELSE WHO DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT OUR CONNECTION, AND I GET YOU A BETTER CAGE TO LEAVE IN MY QUARTERS. FAIR?  
  
I SUPPOSE. SAY, WHY ARE YOU STILL IN THE DRAGON ARMY ANYWAY? WHY DON'T YOU GO BACK HOME, SETTLE DOWN, START A FAMILY?  
  
SAY, WHY DON'T I PUT YOU BACK IN THAT CAGE OVERNIGHT TO SEE IF YOU CHANGE YOUR TUNE. Luin had been on that track for eight years now, and it was getting old.  
  
Fortunately for the little dragon, Berak called out at that moment, "Lady Gwendolyn, your mount is ready to ride."  
  
Gwen glared for another second at Luin, then quickly walked over to the stall. There stood Arwyn.  
  
"Hey, girl," Gwen said with a soft smile. "Did you miss me?"  
  
The dragon, with its blue violet scales matching her riderÃ­s eyes, just looked at her for a second. Her head turned sideways, and she thought to Gwen, WHAT IS WRONG? WHERE ARE WE GOING? TELL ME.  
  
LATER was all Gwendolyn could reply with Berak standing there. She smiled at the lad, handed him a gold piece "for your troubles with Luin", and led her companions out of the building. Once on the street, she placed Luin in her backpack, saddled up, and the three cantered out of Tarintor's main gate off to Aramne's cottage.  
  
* * *  
  
It was difficult to find Aramne's home; it took half an hour of searching through the woods. The druid disguised her home to blend in with the surrounding foliage, and had done a good job. Thus, after a long time, Lady Gwendolyn finally found the place, a hollow in a gigantic living tree that was well-covered with moss and vines to prevent accidental sightings. Gwen swung down from Arwyn's back, then took Luin and told him to sit on the grip of the saddle. She adjusted her helm and flexed her wings, then strode boldly up to the doorway and knocked on the tree trunk.  
  
"Enter," whispered a hauntingly serene voice.  
  
Gwen pushed aside the vines and strode in boldly. "Lady Aramne? Is this the house of Aramne the half-elf?"  
  
From the shadows deep in the back of the "room", a taunting voice replied, "This is the house of many spirits. The body of which you speak is not present."  
  
Attempting patience, Gwen replied, "What of the spirit of Aramne? Where is that?"  
  
"To that spirit you now speak. Why require you this being?" Still the voice was taunting, but contemplative as well.  
  
"I have need of talents only Aramne possesses."  
  
"Other beings possess such talents as she." Still the person did not venture out of the shadows in the back of the tree trunk.  
  
Her impatience rising, Gwen replied, "But no one I can contact this night. I need one with much forest lore, for I must lead a group south, into Silvanesti. There is an evil travelling towards there that we must destroy."  
  
"What is evil but that which you are not?"  
  
"Evil is the desire to hurt and destroy."  
  
"But would not a being you label evil consider himself to be good?"  
  
"Well, yes, but -"  
  
"Then why must you destroy them?"  
  
Finally, Gwen's patience snapped. "Lady Aramne, if that is who you are, I have neither the time nor the patience for a philosophical debate. I must lead a party at dawn to go to Faelaeri to fight the Blackblood. Will you or will you not come to-?"  
  
The shadows in front of Gwen began to lengthen, and Gwen's voice failed her. Suddenly, a large and fearsome creature stepped out of the shadows. As tall as two of Gwen's body, it was looming over her. The beast had the upper body of a beautiful woman, black haired and green eyed, with large black feathered wings. Its legs were like those of a bird, and her fingernails were claws. An unpleasant scent issued forth from the beast, reminding her of raw meat. A harpy, Gwen realized with a dim horror, even as her warrior intincts led her to draw her longsword from her scabbard, and she was quite prepared to plunge it into the creature when it looked at her with a very human look of curiosity and asked, "Did you say Faelaeri?"  
  
"What? Oh, Faelaeri. But-?"  
  
"I have always longed to see the elven homelands." Suddenly, the harpy looked down at itself. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I startle you? Forgive me," the harpy said gently, even as it turned to a half-elven girl with the same bright green eyes and black hair of her last form. "That was the form of Gaaki. She was a common harpy, a servant of Takhei all her days, never truly understanding the flashes of insight our past lives had given her. Again I apologize. I forget all too often that my alternate bodies disturb people, especially when those forms are of the 'evil' denizens of Aris. Forgive me."  
  
Still unnerved by the sudden appearance and transformation of a harpy, Gwen just looked at her for a moment. "I presume you are Aramne then?"  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"Will you depart with us at sunrise tomorrow?"  
  
"I will."  
  
"I will be at the gates of Castle Tarintor." Gwen turned to go, shaking her head, but stopped as a sudden thought crossed her mind. "And please appear in your half-elven form, I do not want you to frighten the guards." Gwen quickly mounted Arwyn again, and set off towards Castle Tarintor at a gallop, a bit relieved that she hadn't killed the girl she had come for.  
  
* * *  
  
As Arwyn slowed to a trot back to the fortress, Lady Gwendolyn began to think about who else would be needed. Some arcane power would be needed, preferably a wielder well versed in dark lore. Of course, those well versed in dark lore generally had such knowledge because evil magics were their specialty, which would not bode well in an adventuring companion.  
  
One option presented itself: Taudoc Malgrim. He was a reclusive mage, in self-imposed exile from Korak, the nation famous for its evil wizards. He lived alone a little ways from Aramne, just far enough from Tarintor to discourage visitors. Little was known about him, and what she knew would not sit well with any upstanding soul. He was a blood magus, a spellcaster who uses the power of his blood to fuel his magic. How he came upon such dark power, none knew. However, the wizard was known to have an extensive knowledge of both undead and fiends, a knowledge which would prove invaluable. Resolving herself, Gwen steered Arwyn towards Taudoc Malgrim's residence.  
  
* * *  
  
It took Gwen almost as long to find Taudoc Malgrim's run-down cottage as it had to find Aramne's, which made her bristle at the delay. Time was slipping through her fingers, and there was nothing she could do about it. The lady knight sighed, stretched her wing tips nervously, and slid from Arwyn's back. Again, she left Luin with Arwyn, ignoring the protests of the little purple dragon.  
  
Gwen straightened her helm quickly, then marched up to the door to the ramshackle hut. She knocked and received no response. A second knock yielded only silence. A third knock with the same reply, and Gwen hesitantly pushed the door open. "Master Malgrim? Are you there? Hello?"  
  
There was no light coming in but for the open door. Thick shadows fell at her sides. Gwen squinted and tried to look around. The hut looked as though its owner was making regular efforts to clean it, albeit unsuccessful ones. The bookshelves were full of vtomes of arcane lore, the cluttered black marble worktable in the middle of the room was in good repair, and the wood floor was fairly clean, except for the odd stains everywhere. Yet somehow, every sureface was covered in dust. "Hello? Master Malgrim?"  
  
A harsh, croaking, mocking voice, vaguely feminine, called out behind her and to her left.  
  
"Hello!"  
  
Turning towards the voice, Gwen replied, "Are you Master Taudoc Malgrim?"  
  
"Nevermore," croaked the voice, even as the glint of a dagger flickered behind her. Gwen whirled around halfway, arcane words murmered, and Gwen found herself frozen in place.  
  
A soft, biting voice, like velvet and much different from the last, pierced the darkness around her, "Who are you?"  
  
"Lady Gwendolyn Sarnah, a knight of the Army of the Dragon." A word was spoken, and a flame lit in an instant on the end of a slender stick. Gwen could just make out a figure dressed in black robes with the cowl pulled over his face before the flame died, and only the end of a long cigarette was lit. Wizardweed, Gwen realized. The stuff enhanced the mind while it weakened health and caused irritability. It was highly addictive, a common drug of wizards.  
  
The man took a long drag on the cigarette before he spoke, "You are a long way from Castle Tarintor, little girl. Are you lost?"  
  
He called her a little girl! Fighting back her anger, Gwen replied, "I seek Taudoc Malgrim. Are you he?"  
  
"That all depends on why you are searching for him."  
  
"I have need of powerful magics such as you possess."  
  
"What, fertility potions? You can get those at the marketplace."  
  
"No! I need a powerful wizard, one with experience with fiends and the undead. Perhaps I was mistaken in seeking out you." Gwen could not keep the scorn out of her voice. "I do not like being restrained, by rope or by magic. Release me, please."  
  
The voice in the shadows seemed not to hear her request. "Why do you need one such as myself?"  
  
"I am to lead a band south in search of a Blackblood contingent."  
  
"Why trouble me with some goblin vagabonds?"  
  
"They are more powerful than that. They have intelligent undead, at least one fiend, drow elves, and goblinoids with unknown powers. Will you come? We leave at sunrise." Gwen felt her magical bonds release, and she stretched her wings even as she stepped forward hesitantly. "I like to see the faces of those I am dealing with. Step into the light, and remove your hood."  
  
The hooded figure in black stepped forward. He slowly pulled back his cowl, and it was all Gwen could do not to gasp in shock. The man before her was horrible looking. He was average height, but thinner than a wraith. Stringy black hair fell unevenly to his chin. Terrible, bloodshot eyes that were almost all pupil squinted at Gwen over a large nose that had clearly been broken many times. His skin was as pale as death, covered in bruises and scars. A thin line of blood was welling up on his throat. "You are bleeding! If I may assist-," Gwen tried to say.  
  
"It is nothing," the mage said coldly. "A mark of my casting. But it is your fault. Had you not  
  
come, I would not have expended the blood necessary to bind you in magic."  
  
An uncomfortable silence echoed through the air, as Gwen could think of no response, finally broken by a harsh-sounding raven's caw. "This is Lenore. She is my familiar." At his words, a blur of black flew just inches from Gwen's nose. It passed her quickly, and perched on Taudoc's shoulder. It looked like a raven, but it blurred into the shadows around it on the edges. It did not seem to be a normal animal. It could not have been, for no normal animal faded into its surroundings so well. What was it? Answering Gwen's silent question, he replied, "Lenore is a shadow raven. She speaks both your native language and mine." He coughed hoarsely. "We will be at the gates in the morning."  
  
Gwen bowed quickly, said "Thank you," and quickly left. She mounted Aramne at a gallop and was off, glad to be gone.  
  
Just before she had passed out of earshot, Gwen heard a cackling voice, mocking in what was now a distinctively feminine cry, "Nevermore!"  
  
* * *  
  
As Gwen made off faster than lightning, suddenly she had a frightening thought: they had no one who could disable traps and pick locks. Who knew what dastardly things the Blackblood employed? She would need someone with experience on the shady side of the law. For that, only one person would do.  
  
Sighing to herself about what sort of party she was assembling, Gwen sped on.  
  
* * *  
  
Gwen only slowed Arwyn's gallop when she came within sight of the walls of Castle Tarintor. Gwen chose to keep Arwyn and Luin with her, even in the crowded marketplace. She had obstinantly decided that if they were going to stare, she might as well give them a reason. She took Luin out of her backpack and let him sit on her arm, like a trained falcon, using only one hand on Arwyn's reins. Fortunately, she moved much faster through the market on her mount than she did on foot. She dismounted at a particular booth, which she might not have noticed had she not known it was there. No less than a dozen people, all coming up to Gwen's waist, were all at the booth. Two of each were hounding a customer, trying to haggle prices. She scanned through the ruddy olive faces of the halflings, searching for one in particular.  
  
Marlow Fenwark found Gwen first. "Greetings, fairest of the talls!" he called out gaily with a mocking bow, breaking away from his kin to talk with her. Marlow was decked out like most people of his kind; he wore baggy striped pants, knee-high leather boots, a puffy white blouse, a tight- fitting vest, and a broad hat with a long feather. Everything was brightly colored in shades of red and orange, with touches of blue and green. His swarthy skin had a sweaty sheen from the hot suns, but his dark eyes were laughing. Curly, thick black hair and a long matching mustache fell down to his shoulders. Marlow was slightly taller than all of his kin, yet he only came up to Gwen's hip.  
  
"Have you done well today, handsomest of the short?" Gwen rejoined merrily.  
  
"I've had better days, but I cannot tell you the noble exploits of either, can I, Lady Knight?"  
  
Gwen smiled wearily. Halflings had a different moral code than any other race. They lived  
  
nomadically, wintering at any community that would take them. Their definition of property was anything in their family wagon, whatever they bore on their person, and the items they were trying to sell. What no one owned in those senses was fair game for taking. This made them scoundrels as far as anyone else was concerned, but Gwen had a certain fascination with the short people and their ways. "No, Marlow, I suppose you should not."  
  
"Would you be interested in anything for sale today?"  
  
"I don't come to shop, not this time. I have a better idea," Gwen tempted him with a grin.  
  
"What could be better than gold in my pockets?"  
  
"More gold than you could get in a year at Castle Tarintor."  
  
Marlow looked at her with shrewd eyes, a glare strengthened by over a decade of bartering. "Details."  
  
"I am leading an expedition south, in search of some powerful Blackbloods. They are sure to have wealth, magical items. You would be welcome to take some of it with you if you come and participate."  
  
Gwen knew she had him by the glint in his eye. "Be ready at sunrise at the gates." Without waiting for his answer, Gwen remounted Arwyn and was off.  
  
* * *  
  
Though two half-elves were already in Gwen's expedition, counting herself, no full-blooded elf was present. Not a good omen for a journey to the elven homeland. But who to take? Meditating on the quandary a moment revealed one fact. Only one full-blooded elf dwelled in Tarintor at present: Rahasia Aravarnae. She was a qualiniel, a flame elf, as well as an loose acquaintance of Gwen's. Rahasia was a spellcaster, but not like Taudoc Malgrim. Taudoc was a wizard, someone who studied for many years to master magic. Rahasia was a sorcerer, one who could cast spells as naturally as she could breathe. Rahasia's talents had developed along racial lines, for she had a specialty with fire magic. In addition, Rahasia was reputed to be one of the uncommon fireblood spellcasters. The firebloods produced large amounts of body heat when they would cast spells, causing many odd traditions and dress codes among them.  
  
A very unladylike curse escaped from Gwen as she saw the suns setting. There was little time left. Where would she find Rahasia? A sudden thought struck her, and Gwen urged Arwyn on as fast as she could throught the marketplace.  
  
* * *  
  
Gwen kept her head high, scanning the thick crowds around the ever- popular flamethrowing booth. Finally, she found what she was looking for. A dog the size of a horse, a flame cooshe, the elven dog with black and red fur, was ridden sidesaddle by an elven woman with ebony skin and hair the color of flame. Gwen urged Arwyn on till the two were riding side by side in the marketplace. "Fair evening, Lady Rahasia."  
  
"Fair evening to you as well, my friend," Rahasia replied briskly. Her stunning eyes matched her wavy flame-colored hair. She wore a black velvet kimono, which was aparently why she rode sidesaddle.  
  
Gwen decided to press for time and skip the usual formalities. "I lead an expedition south, towards Faelaeri. I need someone who knows the way."  
  
"I am intent on remaining in Castle Tarintor for several monthes. It was nice to see you again," Rahasia said politely, going back to watching the jugglers and their torches.  
  
"I also need your fire magic. The Blackblood is not so weak that you would simply be a guide."  
  
Rahasia suddenly looked concerned. Most elves felt a strong connection to their ancestral homeland. "The Blackblood? Near Faelaeri?"  
  
"They have been sighted near the border between Faelaeri and Dallorn. A dangerous looking group, with fiends, undead, and," suddenly Gwen received a burst of inspiration, recalling the surface elves' greatest foes, "drow. At least one drow."  
  
"A drow? Approching Faelaeri? When do we leave?"  
  
"At dawn."  
  
"I will come. May I bring my mount and familiar?"  
  
"Of course. I will see you at sunrise."  
  
* * *  
  
Gwen smiled inwardly. No one else needed to come. All she had to do now was inform whoever was on duty at the main tower that a group would be assembling and not to worry, then drop Arwyn off at the stables. After that, she could get some well-deserved sleep in the barracks before they set off. 


	4. A Gift for Gwendolyn

Gwen barely managed to strip off her armor before she fell onto her bunk, exhausted. She had spent all day recruiting people for a mission based on vague sightings in the far south. If there was no truth in the sightings, she was leading seven people on a snipe hunt. If the sightings were true, they could be fighting extremely powerful undead, drow, and fiends of the abyss. Either way, they were in trouble. With that thought in mind, Gwen began to doze off.  
  
Out of nowhere, Gwen felt a nip on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to a messenger dragon, sitting on the bedpost, with a piece of parchment tied to one of his legs. Gwen stroked the creature between its diminutive horns, took the paper, and began to read it as the messenger dragon flew away.  
  
Sarnah,  
  
Come to my office. Immediately.  
  
Gods' speed,  
  
Cmdr. Markenis  
  
"What in the names of the gods ...," Gwen muttered, stifling a loud yawn. She quickly donned a lighter version of her armor, only the breastplate, chain skirt, and greaves over her sleeping breeches and blouse. She strapped on her longsword, threw a cloak over her shoulders, grabbed her helm, and set out for her commander's office for the second time that day.  
  
* * *  
  
For once, Commander Markenis seemed to actually focus his attention on Gwen. The lady knight found his intense stare to her disliking, but presumed it had something to do with her rather unseemly garb and so said nothing.  
  
"Who have you convinced to accompany you?"  
  
"Brother Maynard, Dolarth Micah Strongarm, Brueyan Owlen, Lady Aramne, Taudoc Malgrim, Marlow Fenwick, and Rahasia Aravarnae."  
  
Markenis seemed strangely pleased. "A fine group. Some personality differences will undoubtedly occur, but perhaps you have the makings of a dynamic unit."  
  
"Thank you, sir." This was too odd, too unfamiliar. Never before had Markenis summoned her to his quarters in the middle of the night. Never before had he actually given her his full attention for so long, and complimented her as well. And never ever before had his eyes sparkled when he talked. Markenis was a man of practical action. He was never emotional, never nervous. Something was going on.  
  
"Of course, I did not just call you here to double check your efforts today." Markenis paused, and the silence lingered long enough for Gwen to start nervously flexing her wings. He then reached into his desk and pulled out an adamantine box. It was not especially big, about the size of a coffer. He held the box in his hands a moment, then stood. "Come with me." Gwen rose and followed Markenis through the empty hallways out of the main castle. "While you were recruiting, I was procuring you this. You alone would make little use of this, but I think eight people could hold it." Neither spoke until they were out in the open air. They stood in the center of what had been the market a few hours earlier. This was the field, the area for jousts, training, and had been the location of the market a scant few hours ago.  
  
"Sir, what are we doing out here? Everyone in their right minds is asleep."  
  
"Sarnah, watch closely, for I will only do this once." He set the box on the floor, opened the lid with a key, and said distinctly, "Awaken, tower." He took several large steps back, and encouraged Gwen to do the same. A pit suddenly began growing where the box was, but the ground did not shake or moan. Before Gwen could ask questions, the box began to expand. In moments, it was an adamantine border tower. It was a fifty foot square at the base and three stories tall with a walkway on the roof, complete with ballistae.  
  
Gwen gawked at the massive structure until she saw Markenis watching her, his shoulders shaking in silent amusement. "It's an instant fortress. There are only about three dozen in all of Dallorn, and none anywhere else."  
  
"Are, are there-," Gwen was still dumfounded by the magical tower. Cursing herself mentally for looking so foolish, she calmed her voice before phrasing her question. "Are there any limitations to the tower's abilities?"  
  
"Very few. It actually will migrate trees that it would crush when forming, people and animals can stay in it in box shape, and it is extremely easy to defend. All the windows and the ladderspace going to the roof are able to be shuttered. Keep in mind that only extremely powerful magic could ever mend the walls should they suffer damage. With that taken into account, you should have no troubles. Everything you need is provided."  
  
Gwen just looked at Markenis. "Sir, how can I thank you for this? It must have taken hours to convince the sergeants to let me bring this along!"  
  
"Don't worry. You only have to do one thing in return." His eyes were glinting again. He just stared at her for so long that Gwen wondered if he wanted her to ask. Then he said cooly, without a hint of a smile, "Kick some Blackblood butt, Sarnah."  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
"To collapse the tower, just put the key in the lock and say, 'Slumber, tower.' Now, shall we load the rest of your gear into this thing?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" 


	5. Tarintor Tower

Gwen was the fourth one down to the field, where the tower was, by the time she had gotten and mounted Arwyn. Dolarth, Brueyan, and Brother Maynard had all arrived first and were staring at the tower that had appeared overnight.  
  
"Welcome, gentlemen, to Tarintor Tower, our home for the next few monthes," Gwen said with a grin. "This tower, which compacts itself into an easily carriable box, has been provided by the sergeants of Castle Tarintor and Commander Markenis. Please place follow me." She then rode Arwyn up the steps to the second floor entrance, the first floor being half below ground. "Open, tower," she said loudly, and the door opened. The three were awed and trying not to show it as they followed the lady knight. "Close, tower," Gwen called behind her once they were all safely in. They walked through a corridor thirty feet long and ten feet wide into the main room. "This room will serve as a stable. Behind you to your right is the kitchen and pantry. The fireplace works, and we have a good supply of wood. Behind you to your left is the staircase going both up and down," Gwen said, smiling inwardly as she showed the three men, all hard to impress, the magnificent magical fortress and saw their looks of wonder. "Behind the spiral staircase is where we are storing hay and feed for the mounts. Below us, if you will follow me," Gwen said amiably as she dismounted from Arwyn, who could not hope to make it down a spiral staircase, "you will find a well, which gives us water no matter where we set down, storage space, and our sleeping quarters. Ladies will sleep in the room on the left, men on the right, for modesty reasons. As there are more men than women, the room behind us is also a private bedroom. I trust that you gentlemen will work out a suitable sleeping arrangement. The other two rooms are storage, mostly bandages, rope, tinder, a ladder, and similar practical supplies. Please put down the supplies you do not intend to carry constantly so we can proceed to the upstairs." The men left for a moment.  
  
The three reappeared quickly, and Gwen proceeded to take them up the two flights of steep spiraling stairs. "This tower is made of pure adamantine," she said as they ascended the steps. "It grows and shrinks at my command, can shrink into its box size with people and animals in it, with no discomfort, and is obviously easy to defend." They had climbed the stairs, and Gwen began showing the men around the third floor. "This hallway leads to four rooms. The room behind us is the common room. When we want to relax, plan our next move, and so on, we do so there. To our left is the study. I have anticipated the needs of several to meditate, pray, and study spellbooks. Thus, I created this room, for us all to work." The last was aimed at Brother Maynard, who pointedly ignored her statement. Not really wanting to offend the brother, Gwen hurried on, "To our right is another storage space. This area is more for ammunition, spare weapons and armor, and the like. In front of us is the watchpost. It has arrow slits, murder holes in the floor, directly over the entrance, in case of a desperate last stand, and has two loaded crossbows always at ready in that closet," Gwen said, pointing to her left. To her right, she the gestured to a ladder. "This leads to the rooftop. The rooftop is equipped with three ballistae, the ammunition for which is also kept in the large storage space on the third floor."  
  
Pausing for breath, Gwen let all the information sink into the mens' heads. "So, what do you think?"  
  
Dolarth looked rather grim. Gwen had been worried that the dwarf would disapprove of the tower simply because of its magical nature. His race had a resistance to arcane magic and was notorious for distrusting such wizardry, relying instead on the psychics and clerics of its race. Gwen opened her mouth, but Dolarth waved her off with his hand. "Lass, I think that this is terrible. How will we ever get into a fight if we are able to set camp in an adamantine tower every night?" He suddenly started grinning, and Gwen smiled back in relief, patting the dwarf on his armored shoulder.  
  
Gwen looked over at Brother Maynard. The cleric, no longer in his ceremonial armor but in a well-used set of steel plate over a brown travelling cleric's robe, looked at her just as sternly as the dwarf had. Somehow, though, Gwen knew that Brother Maynard was not going to burst into laughter. "This is more than adequate. I approve." He nodded curtly to them all. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, Lady Gwendolyn, I would like to procure a few more vials of holy water and healing potions from my brethren, since we have the available storage."  
  
"Of course," agreed Gwen, still grinning. Dolarth nodded vigorously, adding a comment about getting more ale as well. Both went down the stairs, leaving Gwen alone with Brueyan. She looked at him, wearing the same armor he had been wearing the day before, with no modifications at all to his attire. "So, my friend, what do you think?"  
  
"This tower is, well, amazing. It almost makes me think we might get all the way to Silvanesti without incident."  
  
"Almost?"  
  
"The Blackblood is going to get very curious very quickly about this tower that forms in moments and disappears again just as quickly."  
  
"Yes, but they would never be able to get it, would they?"  
  
"No, I don't think they could get close enough." A troubled look passed across the were-owl's face. "Who else is coming?"  
  
"Aramne the Incarnate, Marlow Fenwark the halfling 'entrepreneur', Rahasia Aravarnae the qualiniel sorcerer, and ... Taudoc Malgrim, the Korakkan mage."  
  
His trouble face looked even more upset as Brueyan spoke, "You invited Taudoc Malgrim, Gwen? The dark wizard?"  
  
Suddenly feeling unreasonably guilty, Gwen replied, "We needed someone who could handle the fiends and undead that we suspect we will encounter. Do you know how to combat a greater fiend?"  
  
"No, but do you really trust him?"  
  
"Do we really have a choice?" He seemed truly hurt by her harsh- sounding words. "Brueyan, I don't know what else to do. We need his skills, and that means we need him." Gwen shivered slightly. "But he does unnerve me." Gwen sighed, turning to look out an arrow slit in the watch post.  
  
Hesitantly, Brueyan put his leather gloved hand on her shoulder. His touch was strangely comforting. Before either could speak, there was a shouting from the courtyard. Gwen grinned ruefully. "I guess the rest of the group is here." 


	6. Gates of Tarintor

"One day I will ask a sage this burning question: Is it too early in the morning, or too late at night?" -Jarick the Jester  
  
Sir Darreon Waynsporn sighed as he rolled out of bed. He had to serve his shift at the gates, from the first sunrise till high noon, a duty he vehemently detested. Yawning, he changed into his under-armor suit, then the light chain mail, breastplate, and greaves that made up his uniform. As he got dressed, the lady knight, what was her name (the blue one) was lugging bags and boxes up and down the stairs of the two-story barrack. Though she herself was virtually silent, the gear she bore clicked and clacked quite audibly. All Darreon could do was wonder what she was doing. No matter, he thought, all women were peculiar creatures.  
  
Darreon finally tugged on his boots and kerthumped down the stairs. He somehow got several steps out the barrack door before he noticed it. There was a tower in the middle of the Field! Yesterday, there had been no foundation, no hole dug for the first story to be half-buried in, no piles of material covering the ground. By the Nine Hells, there had not even been talk of building a tower there! This was tom-foolery, that's what it was! No, the rational part of the knight's mind said, it was magic.  
  
In a state of shock, Darreon approached the tower. It was magic, all right. The walls were made of adamantine, a tremendously rare metal, mostly used by the dwarves for armor. Yet somehow, someone had obtained enough adamantine to build a tower! Surely this was the work of wizards. He touched one wall, the hue of blackened steel, and wondered.  
  
The blue knight, Lady um (what was her name?) suddenly stormed up. "Hello, Sir Waynsporn," she said politely, smiling sweetly. (She knew his name! How?) By the Gods, how could such a pretty face be one of Dallorn's fiercest knights?  
  
"Fair morn, Lady," he replied. "What is this, this sorcery?"  
  
"A tool to aid me in my campaign, nothing more." Darreon knew not how to respond to her murmured reply, and he was rescued then by his watch- partner, Gregore Samson. Darreon grumbled some haphazard reply, and the two left.  
  
"Have you ever seen such sorcery?" Gregore asked him in a childish wonder as they walked towards the main gate and their guard post.  
  
Darreon just laughed. "Have you never been to the capital, Gregore?" His friend shook his head, half embarrassed. Darreon continued merrily, "Such magic is not uncommon, especially in Phirilan. The most powerful wizards use sorcery to raise their homes from the stone in the depths of the earth. I saw them do it once." He sighed wistfully. "It was amazing." Back to business, Darreon thought with a sigh. They had made it to the guard post.  
  
It was a simple building, constructed to be part of the sturdy walls of Castle Tarintor's perimeter. It was a stone tower, two stories tall, one room on each floor. The two knights unlocked the door and entered the dark, cramped room. They climbed up the wooden ladder, then began to manipulate the pulleys and ropes that operated the iron barred gate. This done, they went back down the ladder and forced open the twin heavy ironwood doors. Darreon and Gregore stood in comfortable spots on opposite sides of the now open gates.  
  
Tarintor was always open during the day, so there would be a slow, unsteady hub of visitors. It was Darreon and Gregore's job to interrogate any suspicious characters. There would probably be no one meriting their attention. Knights, mounted and on foot, would have to travel constantly back and forth. Most of the non-military personnel were always peddlers and callers, bringing news to the boon dock outpost. There were always farmers, eager to swap rumors at the inn. A few cutthroats and solitary halflings would also turned up, and most of these would be turned out again just as quickly.  
  
The suns were not quite up yet, just peaking over the mountainous horizon. Those were the mountains of the Grumdekgrim dwarves. They were the only allies Castle Tarintor had, as well as Darreon's distant relatives. His great-grandmother was a dwarf, a relationship which he pointedly ignored. His skin was no darker than the tan of a Dallornish full human, nowhere near as dark as the near-ebony flesh of his dwarven kin, and the existence of only mere stubble on his jutting chin showed just how proud Darreon was of his heritage. Dwarves were notorious for their full beards, usually able to be tucked into a man's belt by the time he reaches full maturity.  
  
Within moments, visitors were streaming through the gates. A few knights, mounted and not, bustled importantly in and out of the gate. Most visitors were simple folk from the area, come to exchange stories at the tavern or buy supplies at the general store. Though Castle Tarintor was primarily a military establishment, it was important for the fort to serve the civilians in the area, as the structure was the only defense that the common folk had.  
  
Darreon was falling asleep at his post. Had he been caught, it would be the punishment for dereliction of duty: digging latrines for a week. Fortunately for him, Gregore suddenly shook his shoulder, pointing at a few specks just barely in sight. A large meadow separated Tarintor from the forests, and the things were at the edge of the field. "Darreon, what is that?"  
  
"I dunno, Gregore. Could be just about anything at this distance," he remarked casually, until he noticed that it was coming much too quickly to be humanoid. "Those dots are getting too close too fast."  
  
Nervously, Gregore asked, "Do we shut the gate on them?"  
  
"No," Darreon replied. "That would be a call to arms for the whole fort, and we don't know what it is yet."  
  
For a few tense minutes, the two watchmen stood at their posts, awaiting whatever it was to come to them. Darreon realized he was beginning to sweat, and anxiously tried to peer at the things, plural, that were coming towards them. They seemed to be four legged mammals, horses, wolves, or maybe Dallornish Dragons. Regardless, they were fast on all fours, faster than humans can run.  
  
Incredulously, Gregore whispered, "Are they traveling in formation?" Indeed they seemed to be. They were traveling in what looked like a V, with one at point and the others fanning out to the sides.  
  
"It's wild dragons!" Darreon whispered. The blobs were finally close enough for light to flash of their scales. They were about the size of wolves, looking dangerous for all the world to see. Darreon found himself panicking. In the city, wild animals had never gotten this close. This was not good.  
  
Hesitantly and shakily, Gregore laughed. "Wild animals don't travel in formation. They have to be trained."  
  
As Gregore spoke, the strange group of Dallornish dragons came into sight. They were a plethora of colors. One was a blood red, another a stunning orange. Two were varying shades of yellow and green, while one, point on the formation, was pure black.  
  
As they got within about twenty feet of the gates, the dragon at point began to slow down. It reared onto its hind legs, and something odd, undescribable, began to happen to its scales. It was like they lost their luster and changed color at the same time, achieving a most remarkable effect. As the lead dragon mutated, the others closed in a tight formation around it, matching the pace of their apparent leader.  
  
Within moments, the lead dragon was no longer a dragon, but a half- elven girl with long black hair and stunning green eyes. "Greetings," she whispered quietly at the two stunned guardsmen. "I am Aramne. I am here to speak with Lady Sarnah."  
  
"L-lady Sarnah?" Gregore stammered. "I will, uh, go get her." The knight ran off, literally, leaving his best friend to stand alone with a woman who could transform into a dragon.  
  
"So, Lady Aramne," Darreon stalled, "what brings you to our humble fortress?"  
  
The half-elven girl just smiled mysteriously. "I am to travel with Lady Sarnah."  
  
"How lovely," he replied sarcastically. He had had enough with the lady knight already that day.  
  
The strange woman did not seem to pick up on his humor. Without really responding at all, she simply stared blankly ahead. It was like she could not see the fortress in front of her. Too odd, Darreon thought to himself. Too odd.  
  
After a minute or two of silence, Lady Sarnah and Gregore came running to the gate. "I will take responsibility for Lady Aramne. Let her in, please," she said calmly, if a little out of breath.  
  
"And will you be responsible for her pets as well, Lieutenant Sarnah?" Darreon asked scathingly.  
  
She simply nodded. "Lady Aramne, please follow me. Bring the dragons." The two women simply left, heading straight for the strange adamantine tower.  
  
Gregore shuddered when they were gone. "That half-elf gave me the willies!"  
  
"You're too easily shaken, my friend," Darreon replied with a laugh. Then, as several farmers passed through the gate, he added with a shake of his head, "I just hope we don't have to get scared over anything else today!"  
  
No sooner were the words out of Darreon's mouth than he nearly choked on them. There was a slight shadow on the wall of the fortress, next to the gate. The shadows were not deep enough for someone to hide in, so Darreon had paid them no mind before. Now, a figure stood in the same shadows. Worse, neither Darreon nor Gregore had seen the being coming. He just, well, appeared.  
  
Whoever he was, he was humanoid, average height but thin as a wraith. A black full-length hooded cloak covered his entire body, and no features could be seen. He carried no gear, wore no pouches or haversack. The only thing he carried was a long, thin stick that came out of what was probably his mouth, flaming at the tip. Some type of cigarette, Darreon realized immediately. Perhaps wizardweed, that stuff that the arcane spellcasters used.  
  
The mysterious man was fast approaching, his long black velvet robes about to brush the dirt at the entrance, when Darreon noticed something. The shadows that had been against the fortress wall only a moment before were gone! They had migrated, following the black-robed man. One piece of the shadow, seemingly perched atop his shoulder, appeared to be darker than the rest. How could that be?  
  
The figure in black seemed to be ignoring the two guardsmen as he walked by. For some reason, Darreon was hesitant to approach him. The man had an aura about him; he reeked of power. Grasping desperately for his courage, he casually stepped in front of the strange figure. "Greetings, stranger. What brings you to Castle Tarintor?"  
  
"What business is it of yours?" a voice whispered from the depths of the midnight black hood. The tone was a hissing, false attempt at pleasantry.  
  
"I, I am the guard on duty. You will answer to m-me. What weapons do you carry?"  
  
The shadowed face, hidden by a cowl, seemed to somehow be laughing. With no warning, a flash of silver darted across his vision. The bastard had pulled a dagger on him! "I am carrying one dagger," the voice whispered sardonically, still dripping with false innocence. "Surely there is no problem."  
  
Gregore rushed up to save his friend, but the blue git got there first. "Gentlemen, this is Taudoc Malgrim." At her words, both guards gasped audibly. THE Taudoc Malgrim? The dark wizard? "I will take him into my care as well, he will not trouble you further." In a rush, she escorted the strange man to the adamantine tower.  
  
Darreon dully stepped back into the shade of the guard building. As he tiredly took each step, he grumbled to himself, "The next wacko comes in here, and I retire!" 


	7. A Day's Travel, A Night's Merriment

"The speech of celestial beings is much akin to the music we make, though, to me, our own instruments somehow sound much holier than the voices of angels. How this can be, I dare not fathom." -Brother Rammel, Cleric of Paladus  
  
Nearly everyone had arrived before the incident with Taudoc Malgrim. The last two people, Rahasia and Marlow, arrived at the same time. Marlow had his usual gaudy clothing on, with studded leather armor over it. His favorite pasttime, his banjolele, was strapped to his back in its case, and the halfling still had his wide-brimmed, feathered hat on.  
  
Rahasia was much more imposing than Marlow. She wore a black velvet kimono that went to her ankles, soft slippers, and had pulled her flaming hair up in a bun. She rode sidesaddle on her mount, the same flame cooshee, whose name Gwen later learned was Arcalintae. The creature looked like a hunting dog, but was noticably larger than a horse. It had an intelligent face with high pointy ears, eyes that matched its rider's, and a tail that curled in an upward spiral over its rump. Its coat was mostly black, with touches of red on the legs, ears, tail, and snout. Rahasia's familiar, Daelirna, a cooshee identical to Arcalintae but for size, was sitting in Rahasia's small leather backpack. She had no gear in sight.  
  
Gwen led the last two through the tower, then made sure everyone was safely outside before shrinking the tower down into the little adamantine box. Gwen quickly picked it up and secured it on Arwyn's rump. The band then wordlessly set off.  
  
* * *  
  
After half a mile's travel, putting the group just out of sight of Tarintor, Gwen turned and addressed them all. "Greetings and the Gods' blessings on you all. I am, as you probably know, Lady Gwendolyn Sarnah, a Dragon Army knight. I am, by default, in charge here.  
  
"An extremely dangerous group, fitting the description of a Blackblood unit, has been sighted near the border between Silvanesti and Dallorn. We must bring down that group in any way we can, as well as interrogate them if at all possible.  
  
"I have chosen each of you because you have skills that we will need to get to Silvanesti, complete our mission, and get back here alive. I do realize that there will be conflicts. It could take us moons to get to Silvanesti, and not even a god could keep his temper the entire trip. However, I will not permit unnecessary bickering. Should that occur, I will not hesitate to send the offending parties away. Divisions will weaken us more than the loss of one person's skills. Remember that and try to cooperate."  
  
The entire group seemed to have listened attentively, more or less. Taudoc had his hood up with wisps of red and green smoke coming out, presumably from the wizardweed, and Aramne was staring right through her. The rest gave her at least a grudging respect, which Gwen took to be a good sign. "Now, let's be off."  
  
* * *  
  
The eight travelled along the roads, making good time. Gwen had to pace Arwyn to keep the group in sight. Rahasia was forced to do the same with Arcalintae, and she did not seem to happy about the pace.  
  
Dolarth and Marlow walked together, at the rear because of their short legs. Not at all surprisingly, the boisterous dwarf and the outrageous halfling got along quite well. The meandered along, sharing lewd jokes and laughing loudly.  
  
Taudoc was floating just in front of them. He was floating in the air, inches above the ground. He seemed to be meditating, for his hood was covering his eyes and he ignored everyone around him, though he never bumped into anyone or anything and always followed the others. He smoked wizardweed as he floated along.  
  
Aramne had shapechanged into her harpy form again and was flying overhead, a scythe in her hands. Her dragon companions were hopefully behaving in well in the box. Fortunately, there was nothing around for them to eat, excepting Luin, who Gwen would hear from if there was trouble, and Taudoc's familiar, Lenore, whom Gwen suspected was not edible anyway. How could one eat a shadow?  
  
Brother Maynard followed a few paces behind Gwen and her mount, just far enough away to keep his mouth free of the dust Arwyn kicked up as she trotted. His expression was always unreadable when Gwendolyn turned around to look at him, but she hoped he was not already displeased with the journey they had barely begun.  
  
Brueyan was scouting ahead in his other form, that of a snowy owl, the proof of his family line. Every mile or so, he would turn back to Gwen in his human form and report what he had found. Thusfar, nothing but the tracks of game had been sighted, which gave the ranger plenty of time to walk with the lady knight. Brueyan's long strides could carry him just as fast and as far as Arwyn with equal ease, so the two could talk comfortably. Neither really seemed to know what to say, so they walked together in amicable silence more often than not.  
  
As the sun was setting, Brueyan returned from his latest excursion. He walked in stride with Arwyn and told Gwen, "There is a small hill within a mile, easily defended."  
  
Gwen nodded, the spun to face the group. "We will make camp shortly." She got a smattering of nods and agreements.  
  
Brueyan was right, Gwen thought as she saw the hill. It was thickly wooded at the base, almost too wooded for the mounts to get through. The hill was steep, but fairly flat at the top. It would be an easy site to defend, even without the tower.  
  
"We will rest here for the night. I am hoping someone will volunteer to cook, as well as standing first watch."  
  
Brueyan volunteered to cook, with the help of Rahasia. Dolarth decided to take first watch. Gwen herself called last watch, and told Dolarth to pick who he wanted to relieve him when the time came.  
  
Gwen dismounted from Arwyn, and Rahasia did the same. Aramne landed, keeping her harpy form, and Taudoc drifted gently down until he stood on the ground. Gwen removed the adamantine box from its strappings that kept it on Arwyn's rump and set it on top of the hill. She turned the key in the lock and said, "Awaken, tower." She quickly stepped back as the adamantine structure sprung up. Gwen then lead Arwyn up the steps, and her companions followed.  
  
* * *  
  
Dinner had been uneventful, to say the least. Those who had already known each other talked quietly, while those who knew no one well avoided the rest. Taudoc took his meal in his room, while Aramne brought hers into the living space of her draconic companions. The rest ate in the common room upstairs. Each left to his or her sleeping place when their plate was empty. A spell of Rahasia's cleaned the dishes, and everyone made their way to bed, except for the dwarf and the halfling. Dolarth and Marlow sat by the fire, laughing merrily. The two had known each other for several years now, and they were very similiar in humor, if not morals. Gwendolyn left for bed not long after Brueyan did. The two had talked little during dinner, mostly compliments on his cooking.  
  
Gwen happily settled into her living space in the womens' quarters. The day had not gone badly. She set her armor out neatly, so she could take as much or as little time as she needed to put it on in the morning. She kept her long, flowing, comfortable under-armor clothes on, unsure of how modest her roommates were. Gwen had seen Rahasia meditating in the study on the third floor, and Aramne had not left her dragons, so she was alone for the moment.  
  
Gwen sat down on her bed and took out her mandolin case, removed the instrument and began to polish it. The instrument was just as sacred to her as her holy pendant of Lolania, perhaps more so. With the mandolin, Gwen could make an audible and fitting tribute to her goddess, while her holy symbol could only declare her chosen faith.  
  
The mandolin was beautiful. It was made from a beamwood tree, the golden-yellow hued tree that grew taller than any other, as though actually reaching for the suns. It had been coated with a crackling blue paint. Red- violet roses seemed to spring from the the hole in the body, while bright purple stars speckled the entire neck and body.  
  
Though almost everyone on Aristhar could play at least one instrument, for music was an important part of every intelligent culture, only the most talented could ever become true bards. Lady Gwendolyn's training had been in the mandolin, and she played it better than all but the best professional musicians. Still, there was always much room for improvement, and Gwen would be the first to admit to it.  
  
Gwen put the now shining mandolin back in its open case, undid the short thick braid in her hair, and began to brush out the thickly curling silver chin-length strands. From nowhere, a lively melody drifted into the womens' barracks. It was the sound of a stringed instrument, a banjolele, Gwen realized with a smile. It had been too long since she had heard Marlow play. Without thinking, Gwen grabbed her mandolin again and headed up the stairs for the common room.  
  
By the time she had reached the third floor and the source of the music, Dolarth, Brueyan, and Rahasia were all standing and watching Marlow. When Gwen walked in and sat down on the couch, she took her finger pick and turned Marlow's energetic song into an even livelier duet.  
  
With a slight smile, Rahasia made a gesture as she whispered something in the language of dragons and magic. A lap harp appeared in her hands, and the elfin sorceress joined in. Brueyan left grinning, and then Dolarth. Both appeared within moments. Brueyan held a panpipe and he quickly added to the melody, while Dolarth carried a bagpipe. The dwarf's strange instrument, seeming to be just several pipes attached to a sack, added a haunting undertone to the lively melody.  
  
A militaristic drum beat, perfectly matching the song, could be heard long before Brother Maynard made it to the common room, wearing a tabor drum on a sash so that he could hit both ends. For the first time, Gwen really saw the cleric, not as a rigid, bitter man, but as a fellow musician. The thought left her mind as quickly as it came as all six were carried up in the music.  
  
A deeper, melancholy tone suddenly found itself in the song. Gwen nearly dropped her mandolin when she saw Aramne, still in her harpy shape, playing a crumhorn. The instrument was huge, six feet long, and played like a recorder. Gwen remembered hearing somewhere that only treants ever played the real crumhorns, which were much larger than their half-sized relatives played by humans. Gwen had only heard the human crumhorn, a much more nasal and hollow sounding instrument than the triple-reeded majestic instrument Aramne was playing.  
  
All seven were gradually aware of their impromptu performance, and that the piece had begun to take a life of its own. The entire band switched keys and rhythms as one, with no conscious communication. The tune pulsed and flowed, a fast-paced and lively dancing melody with the majestic, sweeping undertones of a crumhorn and bagpipe duet supported by a tabor rhythm.  
  
Just as informally and suddenly as the song began, it died away. Each performer gradually dropped out, until only Gwendolyn remained. Her mandolin's strumming died by a will of its own. All seven looked at each other, pleased by the comraderie but unsure of what exactly had happened. Gwen suddenly realized that she was sharing the worn couch with Brueyan and nearly leapt to her feet. She held off the temptation, forcing herself to calmly sit still.  
  
Still going on the empathy of musicians, they all looked to the doorway at the same time. Without the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Taudoc stood before them, an ebony box under his arm. As always, his hood was up and he was smoking. A bittersweet scent, like dying roses, hung about the air around him as he walked in and sat down. Unconsciously, everyone scooted away. Taudoc set the box on the coffee table and opened it, revealing a set of about sixty little ebony blocks of various sizes, shaped like the vertebrae in an animal's tail. Gwen remembered hearing somewhere about an instrument like that, called simply 'the bones'.  
  
"Since we have all decided to perform tonight," Taudoc said in a scathingly polite whisper, "I thought I might contribute a piece." He picked up two pieces in each hand, and struck them all together. It created a chord, and they all gasped aloud, unconsciously leaning forward. Suddenly, the wizard's hands flew into motion, tossing and dropping and trading pieces about almost too quickly for the eye to see. As the ebony pieces flew, a haunting refrain began to take shape. The song whispered to them all, half-formed images about suffering and loss. No one could quite understand the pictures the melody showed them, but they all knew that it was shaking them to their very souls. The music reached a subtle crescendo, and there was silence. No one applauded, no one smiled. Taudoc did not seem to expect either response. He simply shut the ebony box and left the room without a word.  
  
When the mage was gone, it was as though they came back to life. They laughed, albeit nervously, and each assumed that the feelings Taudoc's music had given them were the products of an overactive imagination. Though no one really seemed comfortable with talking, their music did not suffer for it. They continued to play throughout the night.  
  
As the liquor Dolarth had insisted on bringing was passed around, the songs grew livelier and livelier. Part of Gwen's duty as a paladin of Lolania, goddess of the arts, was to learn as much as she could about music. Thus, the half-avariel knew quite a few drinking songs that would make the modest blush. It seemed she got along with Dolarth and Marlow quite well in this regard, as all three had a repertoire of lewd music, much of which was known to the other two. The three often sang in trio, with a mandolin and banjolele in accompaniment. Fortunately for Gwen, Brother Maynard decided to stand his watch, the watch replacing Dolarth, on the roof instead of in the watchpost. Thus, the Holy Brother heard only the first few of the bawdy tunes before retiring out of earshot. 


	8. Standing Watch

Gwen stood alone, in a forest glade. It had probably been beautiful once, for tall beamwood trees grew so close together that she could not see past them. Yet, the trees were dead, beginning to rot. The grass under her feet had dried out long ago. In the center of the glade, one beamwood tree, the largest one, grew. It alone was still alive, although it seemed to be dying even now.  
  
Gwen shivered. She wore only a cotton gown, ripped immodestly down her back to accomodate her wings. She should have brought her cloak, but it was still packed in her trunk. Her trunk . . .  
  
She felt herself moving, almost against her will, towards the tree in the center. She had to heal it, to save it. How? She reached out to touch it. Her hands were so close, less than an inch from the bark.  
  
Suddenly, the tree exploded in flames! Gwen flew backwards, her skin alive with a sudden crackling heat, her back slammed against a tree trunk. As she slumped down to the ground, the last sound to reach her ears was a cackling, mocking voice, calling her name. "Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn! Gwen! Gwe- en!"  
  
"Gwen!" Sitting bolt upright in bed with cold sweat on her brow, Gwen was shaking. Brueyan was sitting at the foot of her bunk, trying to wake her up. "Thank gods, I have been trying to get you up for five minutes." Brueyan gave her his usual faint, reassuring smile. "Had a nightmare?"  
  
"I'm fine," Gwen replied, trying her hardest to stop her heart from pounding. "Is it my turn to stand watch?"  
  
"Yes." He rose as Gwen got up. "Would you mind if I watched with you?"  
  
Gwen looked him over calmly and said, "You need to be alert tomorrow."  
  
"I doubt that I will fall back asleep tonight." He was still smiling.  
  
Gwen gave in and nodded. Brueyan politely waited at the door to the barracks while Gwen put on her breastplate, chain skirt, and greaves over her clothing and strapped her longsword to her side. She was about to leave the room.  
  
WHAT ABOUT ME? CAN'T I COME?  
  
LUIN, I WANT YOU TO GET SOME SLEEP.  
  
WHAT DO YOU THINK I DID ALL AFTERNOON?  
  
WELL, WHAT DID YOU DO SO FAR THIS EVENING?  
  
YOU THINK I COULD SLEEP WITH YOU HAVING BAD DREAMS THREE FEET AWAY?  
  
Gwen felt herself blush violet. DID ANYONE ELSE HEAR ME? WAS I SCREAMING OR ANYTHING?  
  
NO, JUST ME AND ARWYN. NO ONE ELSE IS STUCK HEARING YOU PROJECT YOUR THOUGHTS.  
  
Gwen sighed and opened Luin's cage, letting the little dragon fly up onto her arm. I SUPPOSE YOU CAN COME. JUST BEHAVE, PLEASE. NO TALKING WITHOUT PERMISSION.  
  
FAIR ENOUGH, Luin replied from his perch on Gwen's forearm.  
  
Brueyan seemed mildly surprised by Gwen's companion. "I didn't know you had a pet."  
  
"Brueyan, this is Luin. Luin, Brueyan," Gwen replied with a rueful grin. She just hoped Luin would not forget his promise and start talking. Usually, only wizards and sorcerers had enough magical power to summon familiars, the small animal companions that were imbued with magical ability by contact with their masters. However, Gwen's heritage gave her a certain aura, and that quality had called Luin to her and made him more than just a messenger dragon. Now he could speak Dallornish, deliver spells for Gwen, and became much more pompous and egotistical as a result. Gwen generally tried to hide her connection with Luin, especially around those whom she worked with.  
  
Brueyan returned Gwen's smile genially and held out his hand to the dragon, as though to shake hands. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Luin." Much to the ranger's shock, Luin, who understood everything that had been said, put his left forefoot into Brueyan's hand and moved it up and down.  
  
Gwen found herself blushing again at Brueyan's odd look. "He's, ah, very well trained."  
  
Fortunately, Brueyan seemed to accept that answer, and the two walked up the two flights of stairs without another word on the subject. Brueyan opened the door to the watchroom and held it for Gwen.  
  
The two sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, and the lady knight began to dwell on the slightly musty smell of the small room. At last, Gwen had to say something. "Thank you for, um, keeping me company. It would be a long two hours to spend by myself."  
  
Brueyan did not seem at all perturbed by Gwen's stammering. "I'm more than happy to be here with you, Gwen." The aasimar ranger just stared out the arrow slit, looking for a sign of trouble. Gwen resolved herself to doing the same.  
  
Finally, she gave up in frustration. "I can't see anything out these slits, just the land directly in front of me."  
  
Brueyan nodded. "Maybe we should go up on the catwalk."  
  
Gwen started up the ladder. Brueyan followed, and the two were standing on the roof's battlements. The top of the tower ended in a point less than four feet high, but there was a walkway all around it, and three ballistae stood facing opposite directions.  
  
The two walked silently on the battlements for half an hour, and Gwen let Luin stretch his wings a little. Her dragon would be able to do just as much surveillance as she could if allowed to fly off on his own. It was an uneventful watch; there was no movement, even though both Gwen and Brueyan had darkvision. Gwen sighed to herself as the winds of early autumn whipped her hair about. It was still technically summer, although the chill night air seemed to disagree. Gwen found herself shivering and wishing she had brought her cloak up with her, but it was still packed in the trunk under her bunk.  
  
Somehow, Gwen had not noticed Brueyan moving to her side. She did notice, however, when the ranger unfastened his own cloak and started to throw it over her shoulders. "I really don't need-," Gwen tried to say.  
  
Brueyan interrupted her, "You're shivering. I'm not." She accepted his simple answer and let him pin the cloak on her. When he had, he just looked at Gwen, his hands still on her arms. Suddenly not meeting her gaze, Brueyan smoothed out a fold in the cloak on her shoulder and seemed thoroughly embarassed. Then he looked up at her. Golden eyes, shockingly like those of an owl, met blue-violet ones with silver flecks. The moment seemed to stretch into time. The two leaned closer together.  
  
From somewhere over their heads, a polite voice called out, "Kiss her already, would you?"  
  
The moment had ended. Brueyan looked up in shock even as Gwen's head sunk into her hands. She knew she was blushing bright purple to the tips of her pointed blue ears. Through the cracks in her fingers, Gwen muttered coldly, "Luin, go down into the barracks, climb into your cage, and shut the door behind you. I will deal with you later."  
  
Luin apologized telepathically, BUT GWEN, I DIDN'T MEAN TO SAY IT SO LOUDLY, I JUST-  
  
Suddenly tired, Gwen couldn't even lift her head. JUST GO, LUIN. GO. The plump messenger dragon flew slowly and mournfully down the ladder hatch. Gwen sighed. "I'm sorry about Luin. He means well, I suppose."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you had a familiar? He is your familiar, isn't he." That was not a question, it was a statement.  
  
"A side affect of being an aasimar half-elf, I suppose. But you're an aasimar too, and you don't have one. I guess there is just something wrong with me." Gwen sighed again. "Luin has been following me around since I was a little girl. He's my second mother, almost. He's been telling me to settle down since I enlisted in the Dragons, encouraging me to go back home and get married to a nice farmer. Apparently he's found a better plan for me." Gwen realized fully then what Luin had interrupted, and she felt her face flush an even deeper shade of purple. "I am so sorry," she muttered stiffly, feeling stark embarassment steal over her.  
  
"Gwen, I …" Brueyan seemed about to say more, but at that moment, they both noticed something. Arae, the lesser sun, was rising. It should not have been up so soon. It would only be a half hour before the greater sun, Sirae, rose as well. "I'll go and wake up the men." He started to go, then paused. "Would you like me to make breakfast?"  
  
"What? Oh, breakfast. Yes, of course. Go ahead." The tall ranger climbed down the wooden ladder into the watchtower. When he was safely out of earshot, Gwen used every curse word she had in her extensive vocabulary, kicked the tower repeatedly, though not hard enough to seriously hurt her foot, then proceeded slowly down the ladder. 


End file.
